Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Steam from the coffee cup


She was young once, I can tell.  At birth, a blond and then later in life a dirty blond.  Now she has grey hair.  She plays with it and strokes it as girls do when the want a boy's attention as she waits in line for a coffee or espresso or whatever it is that she's about to order.  Gently shakes her head as she combs her hair with her right hand.  She dose it just as a young vibrant blond would as she's queued up, waiting for coffee with the casual attention of so many guys in the cafe.

Getting older, there is a difference for males and females.  Females have all their arrogance when they are young.  Teasing boys with their looks, twirling their hair and exposing their dainty necks like fish hooks.  Then, once they are old they cut their hair short and don't clamor for attention.  Young males are pathetically hope that every switch of a girls walk is intended for them, willing to fight, albeit inadequate, for every twirl of hair.  As they get older, males hope less for these signs of affection and instead make it their's with money or confidence.

Most women would dye their gray hair but this one hasn't.  She still twirls it and shakes her head as if she was 20.  The more I look the more I think made she's prematurely grey.  She's older, but not that old.  Her ass is still tight and her breasts still appear to be perky.  I can't guess how old she is but she must be older than me.  It doesn't matter, ma'am, my hat's off to you.  I choose not to respect you as I would any other misses.  I hope you glance at me one more time over your shoulder as you comb your hair.